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2014.03.19 - ...But Then I Took An Arrow To The Knee
To recap: Etta and Bruce investigated a call last week that involved a couple of Columbia University co-eds who’s heads had exploded into a fine red mist all over their dorm rooms. The cause, it turns out after extensive testing from Agent Simmons and a few explosively decapitated rats, would seem to be a heretofore unknown biochemical agent with a unique ability to expand the neural pathways in the human brain and exponentially increase electrical activity in the neurotransmitters. When dosed correctly, her reports indicate, the drug would vastly increase the capacity and processing power of the human brain while at the same time virtually eliminating the buildup of agents responsible for feelings of fatigue. When dosed incorrectly, however... and the report also indicates that an incorrect dosage would be all to easy to do... kablooie. Etta also managed to snag the college student who’d supplied the girls with the drugs. The good news there is that after a day in a SHIELD holding facility he was all too happy to spill everything he knew. The bad news is that what he knew barely filled up one page of a report, which essentially goes: Got some drugs from a sketchy old dude that’s always hanging around parties, who’d gotten them from someone else. Gave drugs to girls for their midterms, hoping to parlay that into something-with-benefits. Freaked out when they died, tried to run, and here we are. The ‘sketchy old dude’ in question, who is now their best chance at following the food chain upwards to its source, is called Chester. No last name to speak of, just Chester, and he’s apparently ‘that guy’ who knows all the wrong kinds of people and still enjoys hanging out with co-eds at college parties from the wrong side of forty. While not much of a criminal himself, his description paints him more as a reprobate scumbag sort of a guy. The unfortunate college student in SHIELD custody is, however, more than happy to set up a meeting with Chester under the guise of his supplying more of the study-aid drug, which is set to happen just outside of a warehouse in the meatpacking district that is being used that evening to host an underground club. An artist’s sketch of Chester and a cell number in hand, the team is all set to embark on an evening of fun and public service. A sleek black SHIELD-issue SUV carries them to the southern edge of Manhattan well after dark. The warehouse is an old brick affair, some three stories tall and likely open on the inside. Unlike a lot of the warehouses in the area, it hasn’t been renovated into lofts or a more permanent nightclub facility, and so it remains much as the blueprints they pulled indicate: Mostly one main room on the inside with restrooms and an office in back, high windows up top with a catwalk running around the inside of the interior. There’s a basement area below accessible by a back staircase that is a warren of concrete hallways and storage rooms with street-level loading bays on either side of the building. Just at the moment, the muffled thump of electronica pulses from the other side of the brick and the grimy windows up at the top of the warehouse blaze with rhythmic bursts of light. Outside people in odd bits of furry clothing and glowing jewelry wander about on their way to or from the party, occasionally succumbing to loud bursts of laughter. Once they’ve found a nice dark corner of the alley to park the SUV in, Etta pauses to fiddle with the remarkably unobtrusive com that will keep them all in communication, checking to make sure it works with a murmured, “La la la.” She dips her chin in a nod and says, “Right, all set.” One thing about Carol... during her CIA days, she was.. well, some folks made fun of her for overpreparing for things. Even the little details were covered. So she has arranged a backstory with her posing as a Russian immigrant, but that ID is penetrable with enough effort. The name on that ID is Ludmilla Renkova. But the ID behind that one is for one Lydochka Petrovsky, assassin for hire and ex FSA. This assassin has a knack for killing folks and letting -others- take the credit, and a documented pattern of behavior that involves using drugs just for the rush of it. She has her hair tied back in a severe do, and her outfit is all leather with stiletto heels. She has a Makarov pistol and a suppressor for it in the holster under the skirt she wears. Well, holsters technically, one for the gun and one for the suppressor. She even has her Ludmilla ID on her, and had SHIELD add her (fake) fingerprints (thanks to some of the technomagic on her fingertips) to the Interpol database. "Da, I can hear you just fine." says Carol in her best Russian accent. See, some folks would expect Natasha to play this role, but that's why Carol is doing it. She's even altered her body language a bit. More sultry, curious, less rigid and self controlled. She slips out of the SUV and slinks off to approach the party on her own. She figured she'd let Maria come up with her own cover for this, but... this way, she will likely be assumed to be looking for drugs because of a habit, not a badge. Clint is sitting back in the observer van. He lets Agent Black do the prep work while he observes, after all he has not been officially reinstated yet. He gives Carol a bit of a smile as she heads out, "The Widow would be proud." he says. he then turns back to the surveillance equipment and gives them a look to make sure nothing has gone wrong yet. Indeed, Maria probably wouldn't go that far for something like this. Not that she doesn't take it seriously. Quite the opposite. Like Carol, she's gone hell bent for leather. It works, right? Besides, everyone knows Maria likes wearing black. Her body language remains mostly the same: self-assured, confident, but definitely making more a show of this. Sultry has never been Maria's bag. "I can hear you." A short-ish figure with a rolling, loose-limbed gait detaches himself from the brick wall of the warehouse, sucking a last drag from his unfiltered Camel before flicking it away in a pinwheel summersault of sparks. He approaches the SUV with a jaunty sort of shamble, grinning the seediest, shifty-eyed grin imaginable. If they gave doctorates in seediness, he’d have gotten his decades ago and continued to publish extensively on the restroom stall doors of dive bars around the greater New York metropolitan area, authoring treatises in scumbaggery that all began ‘There once was a man from Nantucket...’ He wanders right up to the SUV, passing the strutting leather-clad figure of Carol on his way and pausing to turn and mutter in a slur as he enjoys the view of her departing, “Christ on a cracker...” He looks a moment more before rolling on, stopping by the passenger window that has Maria on the other side of the opaquely tinted glass. Tink tink tink, he taps on the glass, fresh cigarette in hand already. He’s still grinning that grin and says with a wobble of his head, “Gotta light?” This would be, to judge by the sketch, Chester. Etta looks ever so mildly befuddled by his willing and apparently eager desire to turn snitch, casting a baffled glance at Clint. “That may be a first.” She concludes in her crisp accent before turning to scope out the building. “Stay in the car, or go in hopefully unnoticed? And if the latter, from above or below?” Carol breezes past the line outside the club if she’s so inclined. That’s the benefit of black leather, a Russian accent and a walk that could fell a bull elephant in its tracks. The two thugs at the door just sort of stare at her as she slithers by them. The inside of the warehouse looks about as you’d expect: Cavernous, dimly lit filled with a throng of twenty-somethings gyrating freely beneath the colored lights. There are two burly looking guys at the door taking the cover and doing a piss-poor job of checking IDs, a few more wandering around the perimeter of the illicit club. Towards the back of the room there’s a makeshift looking bar and off in the corner on an elevated platform is the DJ stack, positioned just before a corded off metal staircase that leads up to the catwalk encircling the warehouse overhead. In the front corner opposite the door is what would seem to be the door leading down to the basement below, with another large and humorless looking man standing in front of it. Agent Barton shakes his head as he sees Chester come over for a light, "Well hell." he rolls down the window and sticks out his head, "Sorry don't smoke." he comments hoping the man will head in the club so things can go as planned. He looks back to Agent Black. Maria Hill doesn't seem to have any trouble pushing beyond the men at the door either. Maybe they just assume, but her garb and the attitude she exudes, that she's with Carol. And Carol already looks like someone they don't want to mess with. Just inside the building, her first reaction is to look around. Eyes moving only. Gather as much about the place as she can before any further plans are made out. Chester is flexible. And probably teetering between the influence of half a dozen controlled substances to judge from the way he wobbles about by the SUV. He blinks at Clint a moment, then shrugs and turns back the way he came. The fellows at the door seem to know him, as they exchange nothing but a nod as Chester makes his way into the throng of bodies, unlit cigarette still dangling from his lips. Etta watches him retreat from the back of the SUV, huffing out a little breath. She taps the com and says, “Mum, the fellow who has the contacts we want just came through the front door there. Sort of sandy hair, shortish, older... rather unstable looking? He’ll be expecting someone to approach him.” She says before clicking off and looking back to Clint. “Right then, Boss. What do you think? Stick it out here or try and slip into a quiet nook inside and watch?” Clint thinks it over, "I would stay in hear for now. At least you can I don't think he spotted you here in the back. And well If things start to get hinky then we go in." Dammit. "What's he doing outside?" She looks at Carol, nodding in the dull light, and heads back outside. She smiles dangerously to the men at the door, both of whom seem to decide it's safer to hit on Maria than Carol. "Don't even," she says, lifting a hand to stop them the moment she notices open mouths. Then she heads back out towards the SUV. Maria is almost to the door when, like magic, there’s Chester. She practically bumps into his grinning face, coming close enough that the cigarette falls out of his mouth and is immediately trodden into shreds on the floor. “Aww... man....” He complains before getting back to leering at Maria. “How you doing, Darlin?” In the backseat, Etta nods at Clint. And, truth be told, looks /just/ a little excited to be out in the field with Agent Barton. “Alright.” And while they’re waiting she says, “Oh, I have a couple new toys. I have to show you later, I think you’ll like them too....” She touches her com and asks, “Do you see him Mum?” Clint snickers a bit ad the code name for Maria. he then nods, "Alright, always up for looking at the stuff Fitz and Simmons whip up." He then watches the monitors trying to see if anyone is taking a notice to the agents on the inside. Maria Hill had to get used to this Mum thing. It's a Britishism. It was weird at first, but it seemed to come natural to Etta, and Maria certainly didn't want to put things at a level of discomfort between them. So she accepted it. "Remind me if there's something I'm supposed to tell him." She gets that out just as Chester arrives, and she smirks, arms crossing. "Not interested," she says firmly. "Lookin' for something else." “Tell him you’re a friend of Chip’s, and you want something to help you think more clearly.” Etta suggests into the com. And then to Clint, “Okay, she’s got him. He should be able to introduce her to our targets now.” In the club, Chester adds an effusive waggling of his eyebrows to his drunken grinning at Maria. “Whadda ya know? I got something else.” He promises. In the van where Chester cannot hear him, Clint laughs at that line, "Well he does not get points for charm." he says, "But if he is useful tit works.' he looks over to Etta, "So how do you like being in the field?" Maria Hill rolls her eyes. "Uh-huh. Not interested either," she says. "Chip said you've got something that'd get me when I want to be," she tells him. "And maybe enough for me to sell on the side. I have expensive tastes." Somehow, just hearing Chester causes Etta to briefly hide her face in her hand and feel vaguely responsible. “This is so bad....” She groans, even only hearing the half of it. Chester puffs up, completely undeterred by Maria’s pointed lack of interest in his slovenly charms. “Becha do, yup, yup...” He says with a grin that is followed, bizarrely, by a bow and a flourish with one hand. “Come meet Whitey. You’ll be best of friends.” He promises. In the corner of the club, just outside the door that leads to the basement, there’s a small knot of figures gathered now. One of them, a small, rather rounded shock-white haired man in a tweed suit, looks entirely out of place here in this temple of sweaty youth. There are two burly looking guys behind him and a pair of short-skirted, giggling girls in front of him. They exchange a few words before he nods, turning as one of the thugs opens the door to the cellar. Two of the three thugs, the white haired man and the girls all disappear inside, leaving just the one thug guarding the door again and a couple more wandering around close by. And this is the direction that Chester now leads Maria, arriving a minute or two after the others have left. He gives the secret scuzball nod to the guy guarding the door which is only grudgingly returned and says, “Got a friend for Whitey. Is his waistcoatedness in?” The thug glares, looking Maria up and down rather clinically before he grunts. “Five minutes.” Clint notices the door to the basement and winces, "alright is she goes down there we enter the club." he says, "she might have to and I want to be close enough we can react quickly if we need to." he then asks, "You do have a portable listening device yes?" He checks to make sure. Maria Hill has her mask in place. It just so happens that the mask is 'vaguely annoyed, impatient to get what she needs'. She follows Chester without question. The mask is handy to hide the curiosity regarding the term 'waistcoatedness'. At least she developed that professional mask early. It means it's coming in handy now! Etta nods and springs into action at Clint’s guidance. “Should be in the field kit...” She says, reaching for a matte black briefcase that opens to reveal a number of techy looking toys neatly fitted into foam compartments. “Got it.” She assures him, adding for good measure. “There’s two loading bays, one out front by the entrance and one in back, if we need to get down in the cellar.” She allows herself the briefest of grin and adds to him, “And yes, I love field work. Don’t tell Doctor Banner. He likes to think I’m a glorified accountant. It keeps him from fretting.” Inside, the thug just stands there in front of the door. /His/ mask is made of stone and he barely looks at Maria. Chester, on the other hand, is made of much looser stuff than either the spy or the thug. “So... s’up?” He says to Maria, coupled with a nod and a grin. The DJ fades in on another thumping song and he exclaims, “Oh, man I /love/ this one!” A literal travesty of dancing follows, vaguely pointed at Maria. His arms flail wildly. Up high, down low. Hips shake back and forth, then forward and back. He spins around and ends up doing something that might be jumping jacks. It’s horrible, and looks like he’ll need a chiropractor tomorrow. When he finally starts to ‘dance’ off into the crowd, it’s probably a relief. The bouncer just stares stone-faced at Maria. Clint nods and says, "Alright if we go out keep it with you." he watches the dancing and rolls his eyes, "And we will take the loading bay in the back. I will take point." He says. He starts to run his gear check to make sure he is ready. Maria Hill looks suitably unimpressed by the dancing. "I'm not the dancer." She nods into the building. "My friend is. That's why we're here. Chip said this shit's the best, and my friend just loves to get high, dance, and party." She makes a look of disgust. "Bet you know the type, yeah?" Etta nods crisp understanding to Clint, wearing her serious face now. She checks the holsters strapped to her thighs, finding a place for the portable listening device. “Ready.” She confirms, hand on the SUV door handle and awaiting Barton’s go. Into the com she says, “Mum we’re going to slip into position by the rear loading bay.” It’s just the stone-faced thug now, but something about what Maria’s just said makes his Neanderthal brow furrow a little. “You sure you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, his voice deep and gravely. He gives a little shake of his head, clearly indifferent, and pointedly looks over Maria’s shoulder. It’s just as well he seems to have exhausted his store of conversational words for the day, because a moment later the two thugs who left with the girls reemerge from the cellar. They look to Maria, then the man at the door. He nods at them. They nod back. It’s all silent and terribly efficient. ”Come on then.” One of them says, moving to take Maria’s elbow and guide her towards the cellar door. Clint starts to move as she heads down, He whispers to Etta, "Keep me in the loop those things don’t work well with my hearing aids." He is not sure if Agent Black knew about that or not but he can explain later if he needs to. He sticks to the shadows maneuvering towards the rear of the building. "Wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure about what I was asking for," Maria points out. She then nods, letting the man guide her. Normally she would get out of the touch. Like throw the man to the ground, on his back. And make sure it hurt. But right now she has to keep up the guise, and hope she can still make radio contact while down here! When she’s not teetering on her heels, Etta is remarkably fleet footed. She pads silently along in Clint’s shadow, nodding her understanding to him as they take up a position near the rear loading dock. Blessedly, it seems devoid of drunken young club kids, though it does smell like a mixture of trash and even less pleasant things. She creeps up to the loading bay door, affixing a small silver disk to its metal surface and tapping the com at her ear to tune into the listening devices frequency. She squints, focusing intently on the flow of information as she finds an obscure patch of shadow to crouch in with Clint. “Nothing.” She whispers to him, focusing intently before she says, “No, wait... footsteps? Something metal. Something... wet. Sounds like one person.” All these things are, indeed, available on the com channel. A soft clank of metal contacting metal. The wet plop of dripping. Meanwhile, inside... Hey, it’s a creepy staircase to the basement! This one doesn’t disappoint either, with its moldering cinderblock walls and its dim lighting supplied by the occasional flickering bare bulb. It even has that creepy wet-dirt graveyard smell. The further one goes down it, the more the thump-thump of the music above is muffled by stone and earth. Up ahead a low-ceilinged hallway stretches the length of the warehouse. There are a number of rooms that open off it on either side, but they’re all dark save for one about a hundred feet ahead that spills a pale blue-tinged illumination out into the hall. The narrow halls are crowded by the two hulking men, especially as the one seems dead set on sticking to Maria’s side while the other trails behind them. Both up ahead for Maria and on the listening com comes the distinctive sound of a latex glove snapping. A moment later, at the opposite end of the hall comes a man in a white coat. It’s not the white haired man from up above, however, this one is much younger, with a tousle of brown hair. He’s smiling at Maria. “Friend of Chester’s?” He asks cheerfully, rubbing his hands together. “Always a pleasure. Sorry for the dingy conditions, but we’ll get you fixed up in a moment.” As he comes closer to Maria, she can see a faint red spatter around the cuffs of his white lab coat. Clint Barton nervously waits as Etta listens in on the goings on down in the basement. It is clear he wants to burst in arrows flying but he is professional enough to know that is a last resort option. She was getting her groove on out on the dance floor, but Carol is really not that great a dancer. She was hoping to find a link to possible distribution out here, but a lot of the guys (and a few girls) were a bit too intimidated to approach her and dance and all. She watched Maria enter the club and head for the basement door. A few seconds later, Carol (Ludmilla) made her way towards the ladies room. But she peeled off at the last moment, hands working fast. When she gets to the basement door, she's behind the guard as he turns to shift his weight a bit. The cold metal of her Makarov's suppressor is pressed to the back of the guy's neck. In flawless Russian, she remarks. "The fun is downstairs. Yes? If you notice me, then I will have to execute you." The guy starts turning his head and she sighs... the butt of the pistol slamming into the base of the guy's skull helps convince him. Carol eases him into a chair and slips down the stairs. "I am behind Bravo." she remarks into her comm as she slips along in the shadows. "Always worse conditions," Maria's quick to point out. She's utterly unphased by the conditions. Of course it could just be the mask in place. "Friend of a friend. He supplies to my guy. I needed more and he didn't have any, so he said to come and talk to Chester." Etta’s focused intently on the sounds coming in over the com from her crouch in the shadows, poised and ready for Clint’s signal. She looks back at him, her hand going to the holster strapped to her thigh and touching the butt of her H&K. Inside the cheerful man in the labcoat seems not to be listening to Maria too terribly much, but he is smiling effusively. “Yes yes, absolutely.” He says vaguely, his hand dipping into the pocket of his coat and coming out with a bottle. He taps a pill out into his palm and says, “Well, before we go further, we like to make sure we’re all friends here. Circle of trust. You understand. Say Ahh!” He says like he was her family doctor and there would be a lolly handed out at the end of the visit, lifting a pink pill up with fingers poised to pop it directly into Maria’s mouth. Clint gives the signal, and then he starts to move still trying to be inconspicuous he heads in through the loading dock he looks around for a second way down into the basement. One of the first things you learn when you're in the field? How to fake pill swallowing and where to put it. Especially when you're dealing with people that enjoy using Sodium Pentathol - hey, this is comics, it works! "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you gotta do." So it's easy enough for Maria to make a show of swallowing the pill, whilst hiding it beneath her tongue. "We good?" Slow movements. Nothing irregular. Smoothness is the important part here. People's senses are drawn to -changes-... sudden changes. It's generally enough to just be consistent so that the senses are not drawn to a person. God... the farm was so many years ago. Carol keeps her weapon aimed downward and slinks down the hallway. The reason for her matte black leather rather than glossy black was for stealthy movements in shadows and less reflections cast. As Maria does her trick with the pill, Carol is aiming at the guy who gave her the pill. And she reaches up to simply give two clicks on her comm. She doesn't dare speak right now. Clink nods at the sound of the comm and starts to head into the loading dock. His bow is not drawn that is a bit too obvious but he still is a formidable fighter with just his hands. He moves forward eyes peeled for trouble. Just inside the back loading bay a short ramp leads to the basement room from which the chilly blue light was leaking. The room from which the man in the lab coat emerged to greet Maria in the hallway and offer her a lovely candy-pink pill to chase her cares away. That room is a charnel house. Clint barely makes it three steps into the concrete box before he nearly trips over a body. To judge from her blood-spattered clubbing clothes, it’s one of the girls Maria saw disappear downstairs not ten minutes ago. She currently lies in a viscous, spreading pool of fresh, bright red blood. Well, most of her, as she’s missing her head entirely. Atop a table spread with an operating sheet and the discarded implements of a haphazard surgery lies the remains of the other girl, who seems to have met an identical fate. Off against the back wall are a couple of heavy metal tanks, along with various boxes and implements, including what looks like a cooler meant for the transportation of human organs for transplant. Etta follows Clint in, grim-faced and .45 in hand. She starts at the grisly sight, edging back from a spreading pool of blood, but remains composed enough not to make so much as a gasp. “We’re in position behind. Two civilians down. Targets... dangerous.” She whispers into the coms, turning her blue-green eyes on her mentor as she follows his lead. Outside in the hall, the man in the lab coat is smiling at Maria still. And smiling. And... smiling. He seems to be waiting for something, and when it doesn’t happen he begins to look just a little confused. He glances to the thug holding her elbow as his smile finally slips. “Who did you say you were, Miss?” He asks with a note of suspicion in his voice as the two thugs beside and behind Maria shift uneasily. "I didn't. Figured no names for this sort of thing was better, yeah?" Maria regards the man's confusion, hiding her amusement. "Something wrong?" She can guess. "Oh. Wait, I know." She makes a show of spitting the pill back at the man. "Next time, you might want to check that it was actually swallowed." In one smooth motion she stomps on the foot of the man at her elbow, and then uses her other hand to pull him forward - and off balance - before reaching for the firearm hidden in her leather jacket. As the sounds of a scuffle start to fill the concrete hallway, two more thugs make their way out of a small room off the side of the gruesome temporary surgery. They pass right in front of Etta and Clint, so distracted by what’s going on in the hall that they’ve yet to spot them. The second guy behind Maria... his kneecap goes from one piece to about two dozen when the suppressed Makarov chuffs quietly. That happens as Carol stands up tall and strides forward into the light... her weapon pointed right at the ‘Doctor's face. Her suppressor still trailing a bit of smoke. "I think you're done blowing people's minds.." she says in that Russian accent. And to the new guys, she just inclines her head and says, "Your boss dies if you do not drop your weapons." Still accented. Finding a body like that is never a pleasant thing. this time it causes Clint to do something he rarely does while on a mission. He swears. One once his bow is in his hand arrow nocked as he moves forward slowly. Once he hears a gun shot Clint picks up the pace, quickly entering the room from behind the doctor. he pivots to point his arrow at the approaching thugs and smiles a rather unnerving smile, "Give me a reason." It should be noted the arrow the thugs are staring down is not one of the trick variety. The ‘doctor’ looks utterly startled at the sudden turn of events, staring at Maria slack-jawed as she spits out the pill and suddenly goes from some random hot chick to a potential death machine in the span of half a second. The man holding Maria’s elbow tumbles into the concrete wall with a grunt as she stomps his foot and the one behind her nearly takes her out as he falls forward like a felled tree in the wake of having his kneecap shot into fragments. He’s out, screaming and wailing and clutching his shattered leg in writhing agony. The doctor turns to flee only to run into two of his supposed guards, and, just behind them... a very imposing looking Agent Barton with a bow. He holds his hands up instantly. The thugs... are less insightful. After all, they were clearly not chosen for this job based on their acute mental abilities. They turn and start to charge like snorting bulls towards Clint and Etta, and more importantly, the exit just behind them. Etta lets the one nearest her come, ducking a bit to the side and hooking her foot across his ankle, sending him sprawling face-first into the concrete floor, at which point she springs knees-first onto his back and presses the muzzle of her .45 compact to the back of his skull. “Stay.” She says succinctly, feeling somehow that keeping him face first in a pool of blood is oddly fitting. The other guy is headed straight for Clint with a roar, clearly more muscle than brains. Back in the hall, the guy shoved into the wall is trying to get up, roaring his outrage in an attempt to push past both Maria and Carol in an effort to flee back up the stairs. See, Maria hates it when they run. Why can't they just accept they got caught? She barks out a warning, but of course, they don't listen, do they? The Assistant Director sighs inwardly. She adds the words 'last chance'. Still nothing? She lifts her gun and fires twice. Once at each running man. In the right buttcheek. For both. Hey, they wanna run? They get an embarrassing injury. The old ways were... don't run, you'll only die tired. But now Carol isn't killing folks. The guy Maria slammed gets a nice view of the underwear Carol chose for the evening as she lifts a leg and plants the bottom of her foot on his chest... knocking him down and using her foot (and stiletto heel) to keep him down there. Her weapon aims downward and drifts slowly towards his crotch. She looks down and just raises a brow... not saying a -word- now. Well he was a upwardly mobile thug, then he took an arrow to the knee. Clint is not a killer despite his having had to in the past but he does not have to here. Though the thug most assuredly does go down as the arrow goes into him and while Clint was merciful in not killing him he will likely have a limp for the rest of his days. He looks around as the ladies have everyone else in hand and he smiles, Well looks like we have a successful drug bust here." Yeah, that’ll do it. The thug fleeing Maria goes down with a roar that becomes a screech, clutching at his backside with both hands and writhing on the ground. He will never, ever fulfill his lifelong dream of being an assless chaps model now. Likewise, Barton’s new friend will likely not become the next Dragonborn. In fact, aside from the Doctor still standing there with wide eyes and hands in the air, everyone else employed by this organization is on the ground groaning and clutching whatever bit of them is leaking blood at the moment: nose, knee, other knee or ass. Etta allows herself a brief moment’s appreciation for their combined efficiency before she touches her com and says, “Dispatch? We need a cart and... one, two...probably four ambulances. I don’t think these gentlemen will fit two at a go. Plus forensics and cleanup. Cheers.” She keeps her gun pressed to the back of her guy’s temple but smiles up at Maria. It's nice that Etta is so promptly to call dispatch. "Good job everyone." She holsters her firearm, confident that the men aren't going anywhere. "How long did they give you?" she asks of Etta. "There's another up by the entrance to the basement. Unconscious." says Carol as she unscrews the suppressor from her Makarov. She tucks them both into the belt of her skirt. "So..." she says as she moves towards the Doctor. "Where do you get your pills? You can tell me, or I will see if my friend over there will loan me some arrowheads, salt, and ... oh, I'm not going to tell you the rest." Yep, still in that accent of hers. Clint starts to look around, cause well you never know what might be hidden. he notices the medical cooler and opens it. The sight chills him ot his soul then he closes it back up and says, "We should take this too might learn something from what is inside.' he does not say what that is, though whatever it was it has caused him to go pale. “Eight minutes out, Mum.” Etta says in answer to Maria, wriggling a little atop the back of the prone thug as she belatedly feels her phone intermittently buzzing against her thigh. She digs it out with her free hand and her eyes go instantly wide. “Stay out of... Green?” She mutters, blinking a few times. “Mum? I got a text from Doctor Banner about fifteen minutes back. I think something is...” ~Shoot to thrill! Play to kill! Too many women, too many pills....~ It blares into all their coms simultaneously, making Etta wince. She looks confused for a moment at the unexpected and somewhat inappropriate soundtrack. And then, an instant later, she goes just a tiny bit slack jawed. Throughout the blood-soaked basement, four of SHIELDs finest agents spend the next thirty seconds just staring at each other, staring slack-jawed at each other as the significance of the song sinks in. Category:Log